Awakening (TalentBorn Book 1)

by C. S. Churton

  There are already two families and a couple seated at the small tables that aim for intimate but only achieve crowded, and I know the place will be packed when the evening rush starts not long from now. I nod hello to Janey, my fellow waitress and closest friend, then head through to the staff room to dump my stuff.

  I pause at the mirror to make another brief attempt at tidying my hair, with no more success than the first time. I force a smile that doesn't reach my eyes, and try to put the events of this afternoon out of my mind. It's much easier here, under the restaurant's bright lights, to pretend that it didn't happen, as if it was no more than a disturbing dream to be chased away by the morning sun.

  “Jesus, Anna, you look like hell.”

  Tact is not Janey's strong point. I meet her eyes in the mirror and smile sadly, unable to fall into our usual easy banter. The smile falls from Janey's ruby lips and her face goes from teasing to concerned in a heartbeat.

  “What's wrong?” she asks, pulling me around for a gentle embrace. I collapse into her and feel tears forming in my eyes, threatening to ruin my makeup. Janey steers me to a chair and I sit, biting my lip and wondering where to start and how much I can tell her. I desperately want to tell her everything and have her tell me that it's okay, but I know that it's not and I can't bear the thought of her knowing I'm a thief. I take a shaky breath and will the tears back into my eyes before they can do any damage.

  “This morning I was...” Was what? Stealing a five-hundred-pound ring from a jewellers? Running from the police? About to be arrested? “... in town, in the shopping centre, and I... I think I blacked out. I woke up at home, but I don't know how I got there. Something's... something's wrong with me, I know it, I–”

  I stop and try to take a breath, and she takes the opportunity to sit opposite me and take my hand in hers.

  “Look at me, Anna.”

  I do.

  “It's going to be okay. We're going to get to the bottom of this.” She catches a stray lock of my pair and tucks it behind my ear. “And you're going to see a doctor, okay?”

  She raises a demanding eyebrow and I nod meekly. She knows I hate doctors. Well, needles, anyway, and our local doc takes any opportunity to stick you. But Janey is right, of course. I need to get checked out, get to the bottom of this, even if it's just a one-off. And it had better just be a one-off. The thought of it happening again terrifies me.

  “Did someone take you home? Maybe you passed out and someone took you back.”

  “No, I don't think so. I locked up before I left, and I woke up inside.”

  “Hm, you must have passed out after you got back home then,” she muses. “But if you don't remember it– Did you hit your head?”

  “I don't think so, but I've got the worst headache.”

  “Are you sure you're okay to be here? Because we can manage without you.”

  I nod quickly.

  “I just want to forget about it.”

  She looks at me for a long moment, and then nods.

  “Alright then, in that case we'd best get out there before Lloyd has our hides.”

  She squeezes my hand and gets up, and I follow her out of the room, my smile less forced than it had been a few minutes ago.

  *

  I manage to make it through the rest of the shift without having a breakdown – no small miracle – and do what I can to put it out of my mind. I'm still a little shaken about it all when I get up the next morning, but I figure the whole thing was probably down to stress. I put myself in a stupid situation; it's no wonder my brain decided to shut down and take a little time out. I can't explain how I got away from the police, but maybe I got lucky, caught them off guard and pushed past or something.

  Anyway, it doesn't matter. I'm feeling much better this morning, and I'm going to speak to a guy I know about the ring, so with any luck it'll be gone by this afternoon. I'm still going to be short on the rent, even with my tips from the restaurant last night, but as long as I give Ed something I'm sure he'll let it slide. Probably.

  Honestly, I can’t get rid of the damned thing soon enough. Incriminating evidence aside, I don’t need any reminders of my moment of insanity staring me in the face. There’s no time like the present, especially when it comes to ridding yourself of stolen property.

  I grab my phone and search through for Mike’s number. If you’re busy judging me for not only knowing someone who can offload a stolen ring, but also having his number saved in my phone, then calm down. It was after I met him that I found out about his casual disregard of the law. I already told you: I don’t normally go in for this sort of thing. Anyway, we all know someone a bit dodgy, right? The phone rings for a while before voicemail cuts in, so I hang up and send a text.

  I type and delete the message several times, gnawing on my nails; after all I don't want to leave behind anything to incriminate myself – aside from the half dozen witnesses at the shopping centre yesterday. I trust Mike, but he's a bit of a ladies’ man and I don't want to risk anyone else picking up the message. I decide to keep it vague, and just ask him to phone me. I tap out the message and hit send, then put my phone in my pocket so I'll hear it when he calls back.

  I'm at a bit of a loose end until he does, so I grab the vacuum from its hiding place and decide to tackle the dust bunnies lurking under the sofa. If nothing else, waking up on the floor made me realise that I really need to get on top of the cleaning in here. I'm not a slob or anything like that, but I'd be lying if I said that I hadn't let my standards slip with the stress of trying to get enough shifts at the restaurant.

  I turn up the radio and sing along with Dolly complaining about the injustices of working nine to five (the chance would be a fine thing) as I move around the flat. The drone of the hoover drowns out my tuneless singing, a blessing which is surpassed only by the fact that there is no-one to see me dancing around the room with the vacuum pipe in hand.

  There's a knock at the door, which I can just make out above the noise. I turn off the vacuum and reach over to kill Dolly. A quick glance confirms the security chain is on before I open the door the couple of inches it allows. You don't get too much trouble around here, but it pays to be cautious – I'm not expecting anyone. Maybe Janey's decided to stop by and make sure I've booked an appointment with the doctor (I haven't), or maybe Ed's come to see if he can get his rent early. I wish I'd thought of that before I started to open the door, but it's too late to pretend I'm not home now.

  The face I see through the gap doesn't belong to Ed or Janey. In fact, I don't recognise it at all. It's a man, maybe late twenties or early thirties, short dark hair, blue eyes, and clean shaven. He's above averagely good looking, and I'd be showing him my best smile if he wasn't wearing a suit. Suits make me suspicious.

  “Yes?”

  “Anna Mason?” he asks, reaching into his pocket and producing an ID card with his face on it. Shit, he's a cop. I definitely shouldn't have opened the door. How did he find me? I consider slamming the door in his face but that would be almost as stupid as what I did yesterday. There's no other way out of the flat – I'm on the second floor, so the window's hardly an option. Plus, where would I run? This is my home. He knows who I am. He knows where I live.

  “I'll take that as a yes. My name's Scott Logan. Can I come in?”

  I start to shake my head, and then stop myself. I need to make him think he's got me mixed up with someone else. He's not one of the cops from yesterday, so he can't be certain it was me. I just have to act innocent.

  “Okay, one second.”

  I close the door briefly and remove the chain. I take a deep breath and try to compose myself as I open it again. And then I remember: the ring! It's sitting on the table, waiting for Mike to call me back. There's no way the cop can miss it, and I can hardly claim mistaken identity when I've been caught red handed. The door swings open and he steps across the threshold. I glance backwards over my shoulder at the ring and then curse myself: do I never learn? I need to get hold of it before he
sees it; I need to get it out of here. I need to get out of here. I'm torn between grabbing the ring and running, my heart's in my throat and all I know is I need to do something before it's too late, I've got to–

  Chapter Three

  I come to with a jolt, and the first thing I am aware of is a buzzing against my hip. My phone. I ignore it. I'm lying on my side and the pounding in my head is back. I groan and roll over, then freeze as a cold dampness spreads along my back. Great. Just great. Out of respect for my splitting headache, I open my eyes slowly. I have got to stop getting carried away with Janey’s crazy drinking games. That girl is a bad influence. Except… I look around as much as I can without moving my head. I’m lying in a dirty puddle, with a patch of grey sky above me. A cold unease wells in my stomach. This is a little much for a girls’ night out… and, now that I think about it, I don’t remember getting ready to go out. Where the hell am I?

  I sit up slowly, then screw my eyes shut as the pain intensifies tenfold. I shuffle back to a wall and lean against it, resting my head against the damp brickwork. While I'm sitting there, on the dirty, wet floor without any regard for the perfectly good pair of jeans I'm ruining, I try to remember how I got here.

  I wasn’t with Janey. I was in my flat, I remember that much. I remember that guy – Scott – coming to the door, and I remember that damned ring sitting on the table, but then – nothing. It's like I blacked out there and woke up here. Except that's not possible, because there's no way I walked down two flights of stairs and to wherever the hell I am whilst unconscious. Literally no way. I've never sleep walked, and I'm pretty sure to sleep walk you need to actually be asleep rather than unconscious, anyway. Maybe Scott brought me here? No, that’s ridiculous. If I blacked out in front of him, he'd have had to call an ambulance. Cops aren't allowed to just leave you lying there, and they're certainly not allowed to dump you in an alley filled with questionable smells. Assuming he was really a cop.

  I force myself to take a breath and think. He had an ID card, but I wasn't close enough to see it properly. How was it he introduced himself? Scott Logan, not PC or DC Scott Logan. And I'm sure I remember reading somewhere they have to identify themselves as police officers, otherwise their actions aren't legal. Or maybe I just imagined that, I don't know. All I know is that something isn't right.

  The pounding has eased up so I open my eyes again and look around me. I have no idea where I am. It looks like an alleyway between two blocks of flats. There’s a pile of rubbish sacks piled up at the bottom of some rusted metal stairs leading to a fire exit, some of them split open and spewing their rotting contents onto the floor. I can see people walking past the alleyway, going about their business – fortunately none of them are looking my way because I'd have a hard job explaining what I'm doing here. I don't even know myself. I push myself to my feet and try to brush down my jeans, but that's a lost cause. All I'm doing is smearing the dirt even further and making my hands filthy.

  I step out into the street, ignoring the looks my grubby clothing gets. I don't recognise the street, but this town is pretty big and I've only lived here a few years, so that's not really a surprise. I pull up the maps feature on my phone and see that the reason I don't recognise the street I'm on is because I'm about twenty miles from home.

  This is crazy.

  A wheezing sound rattles around my ears, and it takes me a moment to realise it's my breathing, coming in ragged gasps. I take a step back into the alleyway and collapse against the wall. I'm twenty miles away from home. How am I twenty miles away from home? I was in my flat, I was right there in my flat! I can’t be out here miles away. I lift the phone in my shaking hand and stare at the blinking dot on the map that insists I'm in another town to the one I passed out in. And the clock at the top that's telling me I only passed out half an hour ago. The phone slips through my fingers and clatters to the damp floor. There's no way I sleep walked twenty miles in half an hour, not to mention all the roads I'd have to have crossed without being noticed, or hit by a car... It's just not possible. None of this is possible. I slide to the floor beside my phone as the prickly heat builds up behind my eyes. Before I know it, the sobs are racking my body and burning my throat, and I lower my head onto my arms and give in to them. My life is spiralling out of control; there's something wrong with me, something seriously wrong and I'm more afraid than I’ve ever been. More afraid even than I had been in the jewellers when the police saw me stealing that stupid ring.

  My eyes are burning and there's an awful sound coming out of me but I can't stop it, don't even want to stop it. If I listen to the sound I don't have to think about the blackouts, the police, the fact that I'm sitting in a dirty alley, miles from home – a home that I'm not going to have come next week because there's no way I can get the rest of the rent money in time.

  Something lands on my shoulder and I jump with a loud gasp. I look up to see a guy staring down at me.

  “I'm sorry,” he says, removing his hand hurriedly and stepping back. “I didn't mean to scare you. I was just walking past and I heard you...” He indicates the street and trails off as he looks at me. “Are you okay?”

  I start to nod, but give up and shake my head. I'm not okay. Not even close. My Good Samaritan looks uneasy for a moment but then smiles and crouches down beside me. I watch him closely as he picks up my phone and holds it out to me.

  “Here, I think you dropped this.”

  I stretch out my hand and take it from him, and stare at the blank screen. It's on standby mode and the flashing dot is no longer taunting me, but I can still see it in my mind.

  “My name's Nathan, what's yours, love?”

  “Anna, it's... Anna,” I manage after a moment.

  “Come on, let's get you up,” he suggests, rising to his feet and offering me his hand. I stare at his outstretched limb for a moment before letting him take my hand and pull me to my feet.

  “You're soaked,” he says. “Have you been out here long?”

  I don't answer and he starts talking again. I stare at his lips and try to make myself focus on his words.

  “Do you want to go to the hospital?” he's asking.

  “No,” I answer in a whisper, not sure if he can hear me. “I just want to go home.”

  “Where do you live?” he asks. I tell him and he frowns. “You're a long way from home – what are you doing here?”

  That's the million-dollar question, but if I try to explain he's definitely going to want to take me to the hospital, and I'm cold and tired and I just want to sleep. And maybe see if I have any more paracetamol to shift this headache. I take the easy option and shrug.

  “Okay, well, my car's just around the corner. Come on, I'll give you a lift.”

  I don't know how long it takes us to get back to my flat; most of the journey passes in a blur, and although I'm sure Nathan tried to make conversation along the way, I can't remember a word he said. All I keep thinking is that there's no physical way I could have walked twenty miles without knowing it. Or run, or whatever.

  “Well, here we are,” he says, as he stops the car outside my block and looks across at me.

  “Thank you,” I say in a monotone.

  “Look, are you sure you don't... are you going to be okay?”

  “I'll be fine,” I say, clicking open the door and stepping out. “Thanks.” I can feel his eyes on me as I shut the door and walk into my block. I put him out of my mind. I have bigger things to worry about, like my visitor from earlier and that damned ring. At least I can do something about one of them.

  I get my phone out as I let myself into my flat and key in a number. A familiar voice answers on the third ring.

  “Hello?”

  “Mike, hi. It's Anna. I've got something here; a ring. Are you interested?”

  “Yeah, I might be,” he says. “Although I was hoping it was me you wanted, not my money.”

  I can hear the smile in his voice, and my lips twitch as I flop down into the sofa. Mike never misses an opportuni
ty to flirt. He's not such a bad guy either. And if he wasn't more prone to straying than a feral cat, I'd probably be tempted. But I'm willing to guess it's not much fun waiting to see what he drags in each night.

  “Sorry, Mike, strictly business.”

  “C'mon, girl, you're breaking my heart,” he says, and then he gets serious. “Alright, tell me about this ring.”

  “It's white gold, with diamonds. Classy,” I assure him, turning it over in my hands.

  “And where did you get it?”

  “Do you really care?” I ask.

  “I guess not,” he replies. “Just – it’s not an engagement ring, is it? I don’t want you to go changing your mind on me.”

  “Don’t worry, that’s not going to happen.” I definitely don't want to see this ring again. It's caused me more than enough trouble for one lifetime.

  “Alright. Can you come by my place this evening?”

  “You aren't going to try to woo me, right? Because you know I'm immune to your so called 'charms'.”

  He laughs, and I can hear his smile when he promises:

  “Strictly business. Unless you change your mind.”

  With a smile of my own I cut the connection, and put the phone down with a sigh. I'll soon be shot of this damned ring, and hopefully all the trouble it’s brought me. I reach for my laptop and fire it up, drumming my fingers impatiently on the arm of the chair as it reluctantly comes to life. I know I should really go and see a doctor, but it's not like anyone will see me on a Sunday afternoon, and besides, I've got to see Mike, so Doctor Google will have to do for now.

  I pull up the site and type in 'medical, blackouts, losing time'. I scroll through the first half dozen websites that come up, and by the time I'm done I've diagnosed myself with everything from panic attacks to a brain tumour. Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea.

  And what… what if it isn’t medical at all? What if it’s something else… something unthinkable? The first time I blacked out I was running from the cops, the second time was when the suit came to the door. Maybe it's something to do with them. Maybe it's something to do with him. Maybe it's something to do with this damned ring. I don't know, I just don't know. I feel like screaming with frustration. I just want some answers, is that really so much to ask?